


Checkmate

by Vagabond



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, I hurt myself with this, M/M, hiatus piece, inspired by the new behind the scenes pics released
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John pretends to be another man and lives another life, but in-between being miserable and living a life that isn't his he likes to sit at the park and wait for Harold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself sad with this but the new images that were released (with Harold and John sitting at a park chess table) demanded I write something. 
> 
> Please bring our little family back together.

The first time he goes to the park to play chess, he does it on a whim. John sits at an empty table and stares at the blank chess board. There are no pieces and he didn’t bring his own because he doesn’t expect to play. Instead, he stares across at the seat in front of him and wills the world to right itself. This time around it doesn’t work and he sits there quietly until the sun begins to sink behind the horizon. It is only when a chill settles over him that he finally relents and walks home. 

He tries again, though, a few days later. Someone somewhere has to be watching and he hopes it is Harold. Maybe Harold has found a way back into the Machine and is watching his every move. Or, perhaps his friend has been keeping a physical eye on him, hidden somewhere behind a tree. It puts them both at risk but a small part John keeps hidden deep within himself hopes it is true. 

When no one comes the second time he shakes it off. 

The third time a young, lanky boy approaches the table with his box of pieces in hand. 

“Do you want to play, sir?” He asks quietly. He’s soft spoken, with wavy dark brown hair and chocolate colored eyes. The way he stands tells John the boy is used to being physically accosted, and the bruises that poke out from beneath his sleeve confirm it. 

So John nods without a word, motions for the boy to have a seat and they play three rounds. John gets trounced and reaches out to shake the boy’s hand before he leaves. The boy returns the gesture and inhales sharply when John tugs him forward. 

“You can find me here if you ever need me, and I’ll make sure no one hurts you again. Understand?” 

The boy’s face pales and he looks away but nods. He pulls his hand back and clutches the box of pieces to his chest. 

“I mean it,” John says firmly. 

“Thank you,” the boy replies, “but it is okay.” 

He leaves and John wonders if his number will appear one day and no one will be there to answer the call. 

When the boy doesn’t return after two weeks there is a sense of dread that settles over him and he’s so angry he doesn’t return to the park for another week. He holes up in his new apartment and cleans his guns and pretends to be the man Samaritan thinks he is. 

He finally goes back to the park on a rainy October morning and sits in his usual spot. It is cold and his only protection from the rain is his upturned collar. As the drops assault the top of his head and roll down his face he tilts his head back and stares at the sky. John thinks about Harold, and Shaw, and even Root. He wonders about Bear. Thinks about what Fusco is doing. Most of all he tries to figure out what he is supposed to do without a purpose. 

The rains pass after a couple of days and John returns to the busy park. He pauses a few feet away from his table because there’s someone sitting opposite of where he normally does. The man looks up and John catches himself before he blurts out his name even though it runs through him like a mantra. 

_Harold_.

If there are tears in his eyes they are quickly forgotten as he forces composure and moves to sit across from his friend. The chess pieces are already set out and Harold watches with thoughtful, but guarded eyes and all John wants to do is tear down the walls again. He wants to touch him, to remind him how much he is loved. John wants Harold’s scent on his skin. He wants to take him apart and be taken apart yet all he can do is sit on the other side of the table and move his pawn. 

They play in silence and John decides, after months of being apart, he’ll take silence. He tries to discreetly touch the other man to prove to himself that it is really Harold sitting in front of him and not some sick trick of his imagination. So he brushes his fingers lightly over Harold’s whenever the man’s hand rests on the table. His fingers creep up to press against the pulse in his wrist to prove that his friend is alive. 

If Harold feels anything about the touches he doesn’t show it. That is, until John lightly pinches the skin just under the cuff of his shirt. Then John sees fond annoyance flash in the other man’s eyes and their gazes finally meet. 

“Why did it take you so long?” John asks quietly, not interested in being overheard. 

“It takes time,” Harold answers carefully and John knows he almost ended his sentence with ‘Mr. Reese.’ 

“But you’re here now.” 

“I am indeed.”

Harold casts a glance to the right and John follows his gaze to a camera thankfully not pointed directly at them. 

“Come home with me.” 

“That is impossible,” Harold replies under his breath even as he rests his hand over John’s. 

“No it isn’t. I’m a business man who is bored and decided to pick up a stranger in the park.” 

“John,” Harold gives him a look. 

“I miss you.” 

“And I, you, but we cannot risk it. Not yet.” 

“Tell me I’m going to have a purpose again.” 

John realizes he must look desperate because there is compassion in Harold’s eyes and his voice when he replies. 

“You still have a purpose, John. It never ceased.” 

Familiar fingertips brush against the back of his hand and he shudders because he wants more. He wants those fingertips on his back, along his ribs, pressing into him and opening him up. John wants Harold’s warmth to seep back into him because the other man is the only grounding force he has in the world. There are so many things John’s heart desires but the sad look in his lover’s eyes tells him everything he needs to know about their current arrangement. 

“Stay strong, John,” Harold murmurs as he puts John’s king in checkmate and the game is over. 

As he gathers up the pieces John watches. White and black are nestled safely back into their case as Harold stands and dips his head forward. 

“I love you.” 

His voice is barely above a whisper and he sees the change his words bring. There’s a moment of desperate longing in Harold’s eyes and John burns the image into his memory so that it will keep him company on long, lonely nights. 

“I’ll see you again,” Harold replies and walks away. 

John watches him go and sits there until sunset.


End file.
